


midnight snack

by oldrival



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: F/M, i know nobody ships this but just Think about it, i like their dynamic i think it is very nice, it gets steamy! i warned u!, regular schmegular despair au, that’s the entire purpose of this so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25125295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldrival/pseuds/oldrival
Summary: byakuya indulges in a midnight snack in the form of miss despair herself
Relationships: Enoshima Junko & Togami Byakuya, Enoshima Junko/Togami Byakuya
Kudos: 13





	midnight snack

Byakuya stands in the fourth floor hallway, the data lab’s cerulean metal door in front of him, illuminated only by the dim wall-mounted lamps and the glint of the metal key he fishes out of his pocket. He shifts his weight from one tired loafer-clad sole to the other. To be frank, and not that he’d admit it out loud to anyone, he’s exhausted. Regardless, he’s only hovering where he is in the middle of the night now because, well, it’s not like he could just ignore the little message she’d left him through the monitor in his dorm. 

Per usual, he’d tuned out the stupid animatronic bear’s night-time announcement, (Byakuya’s ears had gotten tired of it the third time the redundant crap had blasted through the monitor) heavy head falling back onto his pillow as he cracked open one of the archive’s dustier books to bore himself to sleep. Crackling to life again, the sadistic stuffed animal’s ear-splitting voice interrupted his late night reading once more. Usually the second time Monokuma’s ridiculous face appeared on the monitor, Byakuya’s ears would perk up a little and he’d listen in, because most of the time, the announcement would be just for him. The second round of the two-toned nuisance’s one-sided squawking would play only on the monitor in the progeny’s dorm. Of course, he’d been right. He knew it was her, beckoning him to her lair behind the bear’s annoying croons. He’d eased himself up from his bed while she yammered on about how long it’d been since he last paid her a visit, Monokuma’s complaints taking on the undisguised valley girl vocal fry that could only belong to her. 

So here he was, jiggling the metal key decorated with the black and white bear’s image in the stubborn lock of the data lab’s door. Nobody but him could step foot behind the mysterious door - Byakuya figured she’d unlock it sooner or later to give the rest of them a good shock. 

The hum of the gigantic screen housing footage of all of the excessive security cameras dotted around the school greets him as the metal door swings open. 

“Finally! God, I thought you’d never get here. I knew you wouldn’t ignore me,” Junko’s voice carries across the dark room, the chair she’s occupying squeaking in protest as she spins around to face him. Her grin is lit by the pale displays of various screens around the room. He wonders if she ever gets headaches, eyes buried in screens nonstop. When does she ever sleep? Monitoring them all sounds more exhausting than participating in her self-indulgent game. 

“What? Not gonna hit me with something sarcastic? Are you tired?” the blonde pouts, skipping over to where Byakuya’s pulling the door shut behind him, “Aw, does poor little Byakuya need a break? Well you got it! Right here with me!”

He huffs. She hit the nail on the head. He doesn’t have enough energy to suppress the flustered smile playing on his lips at her teasing. 

“Spending time with you is the opposite of a break. You really couldn’t have taken the time to factor in any alone time for your pawns of despair during this meticulously planned out game?” 

“Oh, come on! Whatever. Sit down, then, asshole,” Junko drags him over to the nearest swivel chair. He collapses into it. He’d be surprised if his aching feet held him up any longer. Closing his eyes against the harsh glow of the monitors depicting his various sleeping classmates, Byakuya lets himself sink back into the seat. He will admit to himself that it is somewhat relaxing, a relief to be able to leave the dingy dorm and allow the everpresent veil of cluelessness he has to keep up around the rest of them to dissipate in the mastermind’s presence. 

Then he huffs again. Junko’s settled herself right on top of his spindly thighs, the weight and warmth of her body seeping through to his own cold, stiff limbs. 

“What?” she asks, indignant, “Am I that heavy?”

Byakuya blinks, eyes open now. 

“What do you eat up here all alone?”

Junko scoffs, icy blue eyes boring into him, “The same as all of you! I guess I do just sit around all day while the rest of you run around like puny little ants. You wanna help me exercise? Sitting up here alone has given me time to think of lots of ways the two of us can get a little exercise together…”

She grins then, a telling grin that stuffs Byakuya’s mind full of mental images that are really quite inconvenient when, well, she’s planted herself in his lap. He opens his mouth, makes to counter Junko’s sly insinuations with a biting remark dripping with sarcasm, but instead what tumbles out from his lips is a half-stifled grunt because all of a sudden they’re chest to chest as she presses herself closer to him, her breath tickling the shell of his ear. The edges of her fake red nails rake gently, but with just enough pressure to draw his attention, across his cheek as her pale fingers grasp the progeny’s jaw. Byakuya’s lips waver, uncertain, in a desperate attempt to come up with something prudish to hurl back at her - but at the moment, however, he’s much too concerned by his own internal struggle of willing his unsteady gaze and his neglected hormones not to travel any further south.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Togami? Cat got your tongue?” Junko purrs against his cheek, relishing in the rush of adrenaline Byakuya knows they’re both feeling. He’s in checkmate and she knows it. She really is the cat that’s got his tongue with the feline manner in which she’s winding herself around him, rendering him verbally incoherent. Another strangled noise escapes from the back of his throat when the blonde’s free hand snakes down his chest between their bodies, catching on the buttons of his clean white shirt. He’s got no idea what to do with his own hands, opting to grip the armrests of the chair he’s sinking further into hard in a vain attempt to get a handle on his body. He’d be lying if he claimed he didn’t enjoy the occasional opportunity to let down his stoic shield only she could manage to instigate. 

“Junko,” he mutters over her shoulder, a feeble protest, breath hitching as she tugs his pristine shirt out from his waistband. Hand slithering beneath the white garment, Junko doesn’t give him a chance to say more, plump pink lips at last completely closing the gap between them. 

Her mouth is warm and wet and sweet, but it’s an artificial sweetness like she’d had candy or soda. She toys with him, maintaining a deliberately slow pace while her tongue, sickly saccharine, prods at every inch of him. Byakuya’s beginning to fret, a gnawing little speck of anxiety clambering for attention in the back of his mind, that all of this might be a little too much for his very much ignored hormones - the hot hand against his clammy chest, her cloying lips against his own, her thumb tenderly stroking his jaw, the hot, heavy pressure of her in his lap, soft thighs on either side of him - and then she rolls her hips, just so, against his. The abrupt moment of added traction Junko grants him, right where it hits hardest, elicits a brief moan from the progeny. He’s lucky it’s muffled by the embrace their lips are locked in (not that anyone would hear it this late at night behind the data lab’s door, but still, it’s embarrassing). 

All too soon, though, Junko disentangles her lips from his, leaning back so she witnesses the moment Byakuya’s eyes flutter open, dark and clouded with fervor. 

“Was that nice, Mr. Togami? Did you like that?” the blonde drawls, the timbre of her words laced with a mocking undertone. Abruptly, cheeks burning bright pink, Byakuya’s eyes dart away from her blatantly victorious, grinning face. They land first on the soft milky-white curves left exposed by her dark scoop neck and then hastily drop further to where her bright red skirt has ridden up her thighs. He scoffs, breathing heavily, “Shut up, pigtails.”

“That wasn’t very nice! You know,” Junko’s hands fiddle with the line of buttons trailing down his heaving front, “I should really be a lot colder to you, meanie. You keep helping that stupid Naegi out when you know he’d feel a lot more delicious despair if all he had was his own - and I guess miss meddlesome Kirigiri’s - dull brain to rely on. And, ugh, don’t even get me started on that slobbering two-timer bitch! Do you ever think about how I feel watching her drool all over you, drowning in her gross little ‘master’ fetish all day?”

The back of Byakuya’s neck prickles. Hesitant hand reaching to rub the tingling skin, he decides the surge of … of something - he doesn’t know what, of course - rushing downwards is definitely somehow unrelated to his current predicament involving the whiny blonde on top of him. He would never enjoy being reprimanded; he himself would much rather delight in being the one doing the scolding. That’s clearly how it was. No doubt about it.

“It’s not like - it’s not like I reciprocate whatever that is,” Byakuya mumbles, defensive but embarrassed, still staring down at the red ring of bunched-up skirt pooled around Junko’s hips. 

“Well, duh, ew. Whatever. Maybe someone will off her next,” the blonde purses her lips, absently shifting in the perch she’s established for herself in Byakuya’s lap. Squeezing his eyes shut at the sudden friction against his pressing issue down south, the progeny steels himself in an attempt to prevent the mounting tightness in his slacks from showing externally. His mind goes blank. 

“Why, Mr. Togami,” Junko’s hands flit to his zipper, “Do you need a little assistance here? Of course, someone as prestigious and prodigious as you could surely manage this by yourself - perhaps you don’t need my help?”

The heavy warmth of Junko’s body disappears from his lap. Cracking an eye open, Byakuya reaches for the blonde’s arm in a silent plea not to leave him all alone with his growing … problem. Instead of an absence in front of him, however, the rustle of clothing directs his gaze up to where she’s knelt on the chair, knees on either side of him, pulling her top over her shoulders. 

“I - wh - Junko,” Byakuya starts, spluttering, face flaming as bright red as her skirt. She tosses the dark top over her shoulder, not waiting to hear the light thump of the crumpled fabric hitting the floor before she smashes her lips against his, the desperate tension between them immediately sparking, electric, when she shoves her tongue in his mouth. Mouth flooded again with hot sweetness, Byakuya almost registers the gears grinding to a halt in his head. The metallic undoing of the progeny’s zipper is lost in the breathy sighs Junko hums into his mouth and the whisper of his sleeves against her back as he fumbles for the clasp of her jet-black bra. Once she manages to free him from the confines of the dark material around his hips, her familiar grasp, tenacious yet enamored, like she just can’t get enough of him, settles around him. Just the initial contact, her soft, warm hand on his skin, sets Byakuya on fire. His fingers freeze at her back, caught, as he struggles to wade through the muddled mess of sweet, wet heat occupying his mind. Junko smirks against his lips, “Did you need some help with this, too? So helpless. Do you really live up to your ultimate title?”

The blonde’s taunts finally rouse Byakuya from the pleasure he’s drowning in. 

“You practically just abandoned yours. Made a new one up,” the progeny retaliates, the jab’s punch lacking as his voice shakes. Junko pauses her ministrations to rise to her knees above him once more. She reaches under her wrinkled skirt, tugging lustrous black satin down her pale thighs. 

“Oh, Mr. Togami … You should know I won’t take such impertinence. Well, you know what that means, don’t you? I think it’s time for a punishment!”


End file.
